


Fourever After

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Reversed!Omens AU [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Hand wavy magic, I don't know how to tag this, I don't really know - Freeform, Other, Role Reversal, au meets not au, but like x2, its cute, meets originals, they do the spiderman thing where they're pointing at each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: In which Anthony and Azirafell meet Crowley and Aziraphale. A reversed!omens (by speremint) au meets the originals fic.





	Fourever After

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on reversed!omens by [speremint](https://speremint.tumblr.com/).

Anthony was minding his own blessed business, gently pressing hands into soil, kneading the earth and preparing to plant some strawberries. He greatly enjoyed feeding Azirafell food he grew in the garden. He began thinking about what he’d like to cook, perhaps try to make some strawberry tarts or apple crumble while Azirafell was at his pawnshop for the day.

They’d been, well, retired, for lack of a better term for a few years now, but they were still angel and demon. Sure, they didn’t have to report to Heaven or Hell, but Azirafell still liked to collect well-loved objects and subtly (or not-so-subtly in Anthony’s opinion) help people in dire straits. And Anthony liked to garden, to nurture, and on occasion, spread a little goodwill through miracles. He was smiling to himself, as he thought about his demon, a small prayer that he found something nice today.

A pulse of power, infernal and divine, some twisted combination of miracle and curse, rippled through the world. The sky shimmered, not unlike a mirage of water in the desert, waving through the air, changing the weather as it spread out. The amount of power took the breath right out of Anthony, he was left doubled over gasping into the earth, elbows pressed into the ground. He was forced to take a moment to just breathe and let his body recover from the tremors still dancing through him.

When he looked around, he noticed he was surrounded by feathers. His wings were out, all three pairs fluffed up in distress. The source of the ripple, the rock in the pond as it were, was nearby. Disturbingly close. No telling if Azirafell felt it from his shop in Soho, not being so near the source, but Anthony wasn’t about to find out. Whatever this was, he’d check it out before bringing his demon into a possibly (most likely) dangerous situation.

Anthony folded his wings away, in the off-chance the forces-that-be don’t know who he was, he didn’t want to give his hand. Standing up, the dirt on his hands and clothes fell off him leaving him clean once more, he began to walk towards the source. He flicked his hand, a pair of his rose-gold glasses appearing in it, before putting them on, a shield of sorts that he had begun to leave down more often than not these days.

Anthony didn’t have far to walk. Whatever it was, was practically in the backyard. He briefly contemplated stopping time or making it so he’d pass unseen, but to hide from angels or demons might incidentally draw more attention. As he approached, he could hear… arguing? Or perhaps bickering?

“Angel, trust me, something is different. We’re not in England, at least not our England,” a voice, so similar to his own, but possibly rougher, more prone to hissing. Anthony made sure to step lightly, keeping an eye out as he snuck around trees, trying to get eyes on whomever was talking, and who they were talking to.

“Well then, we’re going to have to find some way to get back,” a different voice, sounding so similar to his demon, Anthony almost lurched forward. To protect him? To gather him back up, away from these strangers? But it wasn’t him. It was too soft, almost gently firm.

What sounded like angry sputtering as whoever the first voice was paced, roughly traipsing through the forest floor. “Oh yea, no, sure, let’s just pop right on back, just flap our wings and take a left just past the nearest interdimensional gateway,” the hissing was more prominent now, the words spat out angrily.

A put-upon sigh, before the second being started walking, steps sure, towards the cottage, towards Anthony. With a fortifying breath, the angel decided now was better than later, and stepped out, into the view of two beings that looked startingly familiar. The sight of these two, so similar to him and his demon, but so strikingly different, stunned Anthony.

“Who?” Anthony said, without meaning, before things started to click into place. He could see, what was probably the same expressions he was making, on the other being that looked like him. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the stance of the others, the demon-version of himself stepping in front of the angel-version of Azirafell, protectively. The slight shock on the face of the angel, so strange, but familiar enough Anthony found he wanted to soothe him. It warmed him somewhat, that in a universe where he Fell and Azirafell didn’t, they still found each other, they still became friends.

“What the deuce am I wearing?” The being-who-was-not-Anthony sneered, looking the angel up and down. The demon was clearly agitated, eyeing his doppelganger with apprehension clear on his face, despite the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. Anthony couldn’t help the eyebrow raised, as he found his counterpart’s taste in clothing quite distasteful himself.

The angel-who-was-not-Azirafell looked at his companion, just barely not rolling his eyes, before stepping forward in a huff and offering his hand for a shake. “Hello, I’m afraid we’re quite lost. My name is Aziraphale, and this is my well, uhm, my partner, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, smiling, radiating a non-threatening aura. Behind him Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Anthony J Crowley,” Anthony said, accepting the hand, might as well keep things calm while he could, “I tend to just go by Anthony.” He noticed the demon relax slightly. Perhaps this angel, this Aziraphale didn’t know the truth then, of who they are-or were. He gave a reassuring smile, or at least, what tried to be but came out too tight, and asked, “how did you get here?”

“Angel,” Crowley warned, when it looked like Aziraphale was about to just rattle off what happened to the strange couple. Anthony’s eyes snapped to his demonic counterpart. The two regarded each other with barely concealed suspicion. The demon sauntered (and was that really how Anthony walked?) and circled around his angel to flank Anthony, “it shouldn’t matter how we got here, just need to find our way back. Might do to work together, get us out of your feathers sooner.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Anthony found himself straightening, side-eyeing the demon, whilst still keeping the nervous looking Aziraphale in his periphery. Two predators sizing each other up, much to the exasperation of the watching Principality. Anthony sneered, baring his teeth at Crowley, “before we make any deals, I need to know that working with you two won’t put my life here in danger.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said, causing Anthony to flinch violently at the endearment coming from the one who was _not_ his demon, and turn fully towards the Principality, “oh, sorry, habit I’m afraid.” Aziraphale was nervously twirling his pinkie ring, waiting for Anthony to relax, albeit only incrementally, before continuing, “we’d never ask you to put yourself in danger for us.” Crowley seemed to disagree behind him, but Aziraphale ignored him, “Just lend a hand, if you could.”

“Just, what? Lend a hand when needed?” Anthony found himself smiling, remembering the Arrangement. He looked at the startled face of Aziraphale, watched it morph into an almost sly smile. The demon, Crowley, was circling once more, watching Anthony’s face warily, looking ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “Very well,” Anthony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he rapidly thought through his options here, before deciding he might as well keep them in his sights, “follow me, if you’d please. I live nearby.”

“Oh? By yourself, or,” Aziraphale trailed off, fishing for information. It wasn’t very subtle in Anthony’s opinion. He looked over his shoulder at the pair, showing his back to a pair of unknowns might not be very smart, but he didn’t feel threatened. Which might be strange, but in some sense of the word, they were alternates of him and his demon.

“No, I have a companion, I’ll have to pick him up, actually,” Anthony mused, not breaking stride as he meandered back to the cottage. He’d have to break the news to Azirafell on the ride over. He wasn’t sure how the demon would handle it, but well, Anthony would be there in case anything happened.

“An angel?” Crowley growled; his hands were in his pockets as he tried to appear uncaring. It wasn’t fooling Anthony, having done quite similar acts himself, and it wasn’t fooling Aziraphale, having known the demon for 6,000 years. But well, if Anthony was in his position, and in a way, he supposed he was, he’d be doing the same thing.

“Not so much,” Anthony smirked, before once more looking over his shoulder, this time at the demon, “much like your angelic friend, I have a demon on my shoulder.” He expected it to assuage their fears, that he wasn’t on Heaven’s side, as it were. It didn’t. Crowley, if anything looked more tense; however, the angel didn’t seem concerned at all.

“This demon,” Aziraphale began, with Crowley hissing some complaint behind him, he side-eyed the demon, but continued his thought, “they wouldn’t happen to be, erm, familiar, by chance?” He was once again messing with his pinkie ring. A nervous tick?

Anthony took a deep breath he didn’t need, before he nodded, “Azirafell. The Bird of Eden, Original Tempter, Creator of the First Sin, I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.” He waved a hand dismissively. He wasn’t expecting Crowley to begin sputtering and huffing indignantly and Aziraphale to poorly hide a snort.

“Bird?!” Crowley finally managed to spit out after several aborted attempts at talking, “what’s this nonsense about? _Serpent_ of Eden, thank you very much.” The hiss was back, purposefully no doubt, as Crowley prowled forward, walking in line with Anthony.

Anthony merely hummed, before removing his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves, and rolling them up. The golden snakes that marked him as an angel, perhaps achingly familiar to the demon, slithered and curled along his arms. He lowered his glasses slightly, making purposeful eye contact with Crowley, or at least, he thought he was, those glasses were quite dark, “we may be snakes, in a sense, but by no means does the action of one make any type of animal inherently evil.” He adjusted his glasses back into place.

Aziraphale was positively radiating some sort of smug satisfaction, as Crowley lagged behind, staring at Anthony like he’d grown a second head, which wasn’t unheard of as far as angels were concerned. The cherubim, for example, had four. Crowley eventually fell back into step with his angel, he’d always had a longer stride after all. Aziraphale pat the demon’s arm reassuringly, but Crowley just shrugged.

When they came upon the cottage, Aziraphale made such a familiar happy gasp, that Anthony almost thought his demon had decided to make his own way back. Still, he turned to regard the Principality, “this, is our humble abode.” He opened the gate, his power fluctuating to allow the two newcomers onto the property. If either being noticed, they didn’t comment on it.

“An apple tree? Really?” Crowley snorted, and Aziraphale, though he didn’t comment, found himself agreeing. “And your plants aren’t trembling in fear? Doing a poor job of it,” the demon huffed, though there wasn’t any real heat to it, just some sort of pride.

“Well, the tree I suppose is sentimental,” Anthony couldn’t help the fond smile as he thought about his and Azirafell’s first meeting. While he personally didn’t see anything wrong with the temptation of Adam and Eve, he supposed he could understand how it might seem a bit gauche to the others. “The plants are doing so well, because they simply don’t want to disappoint me. Of course,” Anthony said, looking down his nose at a particular tomato plant, whose fruit was still yellow, “they only disappoint themselves.” The fruit immediately began to ripen, eager to please.

“Oh Lord,” Aziraphale huffed, rolling his eyes at the display. “Well, despite the two of you having _questionable_ gardening methods,” at this, both Anthony and Crowley raised one eyebrow, as if daring the Principality to comment further, “it’s all very lovely, I assure you. I can tell you love your plants very much; the whole garden and cottage are brimming with it.” Aziraphale smiled brightly, not one Anthony had ever seen before on Azirafell, and he found himself reluctantly charmed by it, as the Principality continued, “but, perhaps we could come inside and wait for you to gather your, uh, demon?”

“Ah,” Anthony could feel his face heat up, staring at that bright smile, not that he wanted this Aziraphale, but that he kept imagining his fiend smiling at him like that. He quickly turned to open the cottage door, banishing the thoughts from his mind, “here, mind, it might be a lot at first, Azirafell collects well-loved objects. I’d recommend you not touch anything.”

It was enough that even Crowley could feel the love pouring off the miscellaneous items littering the house, and he didn’t have the sense for it. When the demon looked to his companion, Aziraphale looked positively drunk on it. “Oh my,” Aziraphale murmured, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder for support.

“Yea, took me awhile to get used to it,” Anthony admitted, before gesturing to the loveseat in the living room. Crowley gently led his angel to sit, looking positively distressed and concerned. “Do you eat?” Anthony found himself asking, even though this wasn’t his Azirafell, he found himself wanting to help in any way he could.

When Aziraphale didn’t seem to answer, or even hear Anthony, Crowley answered for him, “he does, why? Got something to say about it?” His demon counterpart was still bristling, on edge, not that Anthony could really blame him. Crowley had an arm wrapped tightly around Aziraphale’s shoulder, he was curled over the angel, as if he could buffer out some of the overwhelming love.

“Not as such, no. Just that eating might help,” Anthony left to set up a three-tiered tea tray and start the kettle. By the time he’d had the food set and the tea made, Aziraphale had begun to come out of his stupor. He could hear from the kitchen mumbled assurances made to the demon on his couch. He came out with a tray expertly balanced on his hand, holding the kettle, sugar, cream, and teacups and in his other hand, the three-tiered tray holding scones, sandwiches, and slices of cake topped with fruit in order from top to bottom.

Aziraphale positively lit up with excitement at the display, and that was familiar enough that Anthony found himself smiling once more. He set the trays down and set about pouring the tea. Crowley had begun to sprawl, but Anthony could still see the tension in his limbs, see how he was forcing himself to appear casual. Anthony sat down in Azirafell’s comfortable, well-worn armchair, a cup of tea in his hand that he idly cooled to perfect sipping temperature, where it would stay until he was finished.

“Oh my, this is quite scrummy,” Aziraphale hummed appreciatively as he took measured nibbles, wiping his mouth after each bite. After polishing off two scones and a cup of tea, Aziraphale was much more ambulatory and focused. Without quite meaning to, both Anthony and Crowley had begun to lean towards the Principality, head resting on one fist as they watched him eat. The little expressions and appreciative noises were so endearing to the demon, and so endearingly familiar to the angel.

“Glad you like it,” Anthony leaned back, suddenly aware he’d been enamored with the Principality. “Made them myself, most things fresh from the garden,” he preened, proud of his work. Perhaps, unbecoming of an angel, but then he’d always been a bad angel. Clearly, if he’d been a worse angel, he’d have been a demon, he thought soberingly.

“Oh my, well, it’s very good indeed. Can taste the love,” Aziraphale flushed and began starting on the sandwiches. Anthony got up to refill the Principality’s teacup, only to stop when Crowley’s hands were on the kettle first. The two locked eyes with each other and bristled, at the sight of their lips curling up, Aziraphale interrupted, “oh do stop. Really now, you two.” Anthony was the one that backed off, allowing Crowley to make another cup for his angel.

“Well, now that you’re feeling more like yourself, I’m going to go pick up Azirafell. See what we can do about this, erm, situation,” Anthony rose, stretching languorously. He fixed his shirt sleeves, picked up his jacket, and put it back on. “Feel free to explore, if you like. Just, be careful, might not want to touch anything,” and with that, he left to take the Bentley and pick up Azirafell. It was earlier than they’d made plans for, but, well, Anthony could really do with having the fiend by his side for this.


End file.
